


Our Footsteps in Colour

by shiroganejpg



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artist Keith (Voltron), Awkward Flirting, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Pining, street artist!Keith, tourist!Shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 09:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17180072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiroganejpg/pseuds/shiroganejpg
Summary: While vacationing on a foreign planet, Shiro meets a street artist and sparks fly. There's one problem, though: a language barrier.After about twenty minutes, if Shiro had to guess, the artist was turning his watercolour pad towards him. Shiro leaned forwards to take a good look, and he felt a smile growing on his lips whether he liked it or not.





	1. Chapter 1

“I'm still not sure why you wanted me to tag along, Matt. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the gesture, but… I'm not involved in science the same way you are.”

“Yeah, I know that. You're not coming to the convention, remember,” Matt replied from the bathroom, door ajar. “The tickets are super expensive, so there wouldn't be much point anyway.”

“ _Is_ there a reason you wanted me to come with you, then?” 

Matt rinsed his face free of shaving cream and stepped out into their hotel room, blotting his face dry. “Yeah. I can't remember the last time you had a break, _Admiral_. So, for the next ten days, you're forcibly off-duty.” He held a finger up before Shiro could respond, silencing his impending protests with a sharp click of his tongue. “You're too late to argue, anyway. Flight's gone. We're stuck here for the duration! But come on- this is your chance to explore Laio'ksar and do some sightseeing. It’ll be fun.”

With a sigh, Shiro leaned back across the bed so he could stare at the ceiling. He was a little reluctant to leave the ATLAS for ten days - he trusted his staff, of course, but still… being out of touch and unaware of everything going made Shiro feel a little antsy. It was a loss of control, and Shiro wasn't a fan of that. Never had been.

“Alright,” he sighed after a moment upon realising Matt was expecting an answer. “I'll do some exploring. You're getting the shuttle in twenty five minutes, right?” 

“Mm, but I'm going to leave a little earlier and make sure I've got time to find the right stop. I can't be late to this convention - they're showing off a line of brand new Sorcavian L-series processors and I am _not_ missing that.” Matt stood in front of the floor length mirror and smoothed out his jacket, before catching Shiro's eye in the reflection. “Come _on_ , Shiro. Loosen up! You're going to have fun! Just try and relax, okay? And that means no work.” 

“It's not like I could do any, anyway. You wouldn't let me bring my datapad or my phone.” 

There was a note of bitterness in his tone, although truthfully he knew Matt meant well. He wanted him to relax and step back from work. Even Shiro could admit, he was a workaholic, and he _had_ been feeling sort of run down lately. It was just hard to step away from the mindset of constantly doing something.

“Don’t worry, I know what you’re really trying to say is _‘thank you, Matt, for bringing me along as your plus one even though your little sister will never let you hear the end of it, and for sharing a twin hotel room with me for ten days even though I get up way too early and I’m always too loud in the mornings.’,_ and the answer is, of course, you’re welcome.”

“Yes, Matt, _thank you_. Don’t you have a shuttle to get? Like, perhaps ten minutes ago?”

Despite their bickering, it was all in good fun. They had been friends for years, brought closer by the events of Kerberos. So, when Matt flipped him the bird before seeing himself out of their room, Shiro had no concerns about any ill-will lingering. The door clicked shut and he closed his eyes for a minute, trying to relax. What was he even worried about? Sam wouldn’t let anything go awry, and he was certain the team could handle anything else needing done. All the equipment checks had been completed before he left, so why was he so stressed?

Maybe he _did_ need a break. It couldn’t be healthy being so unable to unwind.

Shiro spent the next few minutes laying across the bed and just trying to breathe deep into his muscles, slowly, to force himself to relax. His shoulders already hurt from being so tense, and the ache in his lower back from his long days spent hunched over his desk was niggling. He was used to the long days, and by all accounts he _enjoyed_ being busy - it was times like _this_ that felt out of place.

After pulling on a jacket to conceal his travelled-in-and-slightly-wrinkled shirt, Shiro brushed his teeth for good measure and gave himself a once over in the mirror. 

Presentable. 

Not great, but for a quick look around it would suffice. He’d just go out and get a sense of the area, he told himself as he locked up and passed by the hotel’s reception, so that tomorrow he could do some real exploring.

He had to admit, as he stepped out into the mild sunshine, that Matt had done well in finding a hotel. They were right on the main square, with vendors, restaurants, and stores all around them. It was certainly a tourist area, but he couldn’t complain in the slightest - he’d read about Laio’ksar having some of the most dramatic and beautiful landscapes on the way here. Maybe he’d consider doing a tour, himself. It would kill a day, wouldn’t it?

For a while, Shiro wandered the square, peering in at each stall. They were all fairly similar, obviously full of the main exports: a violet salt with orange flecks claimed to be a cure-all drug sold for an extortionately high price, a beautiful sash featuring embroideries of the country’s history, small sugar crystals encasing a little orb of their local candy, or standard gift-shop souvenirs. Nothing too interesting or eye-catching, although he may have to bring home a packet of those little candies for Hunk…

Actually, there was something eye-catching. Not in the stalls, nor the restaurants, or the stores, but by the corner where a side street merged into the main square. He could only see the edge of a stall, but it was decorated with a hanging bundle of threads and beads with such vibrant colouring, he had to wonder what it was.

Shiro found himself gravitating towards that corner. He tried to look around and observe everything he was passing, but in reality he wasn’t taking much in. All the souvenirs, food, quack drugs that would do more harm than good - they were all the same tired tourist traps. But with that stall on the corner, he wasn’t sure.

His curiosity has been piqued.

When he rounded the corner to see what it was, he initially intended to walk past and just catch a glimpse. After all, he didn’t want to look like he was _just_ there to look at this stall rather than taking in the sights. That plan was foiled, however, when the person currently working at the stall - a young man with jet black hair and sharp grey-blue eyes - looked up at Shiro. 

He was currently painting a young local, a tanned girl with long braids on either side of her head and bright green, pupil-less eyes. He seemed to be finishing up, and the young girl smiled at Shiro, revealing her four sets of teeth. Shiro returned the smile with a sheepish wave, belatedly realising that he couldn’t simply look like a passer by when he’d been caught looking _directly_ at this man and his work. She turned back to the artist, who continued his work.

Well… it seemed like Shiro was going to get his portrait painted.

He couldn’t say he was _upset_ to stand there and watch; the artist knew exactly what he was doing, and it looked pretty amazing. Shiro had always found watching people work fascinating.- Matt, Pidge, Hunk. 

This man.

 _“Na’l koni tri’sko,”_ The artist soon said to the local, and she beamed brightly, leaning forwards in her seat to see the work he had done while he turned the pad around. _“Sak’or un kartra trisilk.”_

The girl reached into her pocket and pulled out a note - yes, _trisilk_ , Shiro recognised that. That was their currency, wasn’t it? - and handed it over to the artist. 

_“Nga’sklin tru’kna!”_ She chimed. They exchanged a little longer in the local tongue and the girl got up, smiling up to Shiro as she passed him and headed off on her way. 

The artist looked up at Shiro, and offered a polite smile. Small and reserved. The man before him could apparently tell he wasn’t a local - he looked unsure on how to communicate what he wanted to say. Shiro tried his best, pointing down at the pad the man currently had balanced on his knees and then pointing to himself. He followed up with a sheepish smile, unsure if the message was understood, but the artist smiled back. The chair that the young lady had been sitting on was nudged back with his foot, and he swept his hand invitingly towards it.

He’d… he’d never had this done before. Shiro was a little awkward when he settled into the chair opposite the artist, but kept his eyes trained on him. Right away, the artist got to work - He started with a pencil, looking between the pad of paper and the customer sitting in front of him while he sketched. 

Quite a few times, they would meet one another’s eyes, smile, and then focus back on the task at hand. Despite it happening regularly and repetitively, there was no sense of embarrassment or awkwardness about it - it felt almost like an exchange of friends, even with this stranger.

After about twenty minutes, if Shiro had to guess, the artist was turning his watercolour pad towards him. Shiro leaned forwards to take a good look, and he felt a smile growing on his lips whether he liked it or not. It was _beautiful, but in a unique way_ \- the colours were subdued and thin, but stretched across the paper in streaks that all came together in such an amazing way. Shiro looked up to find the artist looking him in the eyes, seemingly waiting for some form of approval.

Shiro gave him the brightest smile he could, and nodded quickly. The artist seemed to relax, returning a soft smile and turning the paper back to himself. In the corner, he jotted his signature - a small vertical line with an X through it- and reached for a little piece of laminated paper he had under his other pads of paper.

The lamination had, presumably, the same message printed in various languages. English was the fourth down - _Please return to collect your artwork in 4-6 hours, as it needs time to dry. If you can’t return please inform me at the time of payment. The cost is 40 trisilk. We do not accept foreign cards, only cards from the bank of Laio’ksar._ \- and after reading it, Shiro nodded and the artist accepted the lamination back. He left Shiro to pull out his wallet while he rose, hanging up the painting to dry, and he returned to the sight of the white-haired man holding out two notes. The artist accepted them with a smile, and in the local tongue, he bid, _“Nga’sklin tru’kna.”_

Shiro had familiarised himself with the basic phrases on the way over - uh, tried to, anyway. This was a ‘thank you’, he knew that much, but languages had never been much of his strong suit and so he stuttered out a poorly pronounced, _“Nga’sklin tru’kna”_ in response.

At the very least, the artist didn’t laugh at him for his incompetence, but seemed genuinely appreciative of the attempt (no matter how botched it might have been). It wasn’t often that tourists came here and actually _attempted_ to use the language. Shiro was grateful, and they shared a broad smile and a wave before parting ways. Shiro began crossing the square back to his apartment, utterly uninterested in the stalls and everything else he had passed on the way there. All he could think of, now, was that artist on the street corner and the fact that his heart was fluttering in his chest. 

He glanced back to find the artist with one headphone in, sketching on a fresh page of his book. 

Thankfully, he didn’t notice Shiro looking back.

 

 

“Woah, look at that one, mum!” A young girl of no more than six exclaimed, pointing up at the drying paintings and examples hanging along the stall’s roof. “I like that one! That one is my favourite! It’s got pink _and_ green in it!”

Keith tugged his headphone from his ear, and watched the girl bouncing around and pulling on her mother’s arm every time she spotted something new. Again, tourists, he was sure. They spoke English. The little girl gasped when she saw that Keith was working on something new, and bounded over to him, standing on her tiptoes to look at the pad he was working on.

“Who’s this man?” She asked.

“Oh, nobody. Just a passerby.”


	2. Chapter 2

“So, wait. I don’t get it. You got your portrait painted but you don’t _have_ the painting?”

“I have to collect it,” Shiro answered, splayed across his bed just as he’d began that morning, staring hopelessly at the ceiling. “The paint had to dry or something. I was meant to go back, like, two hours ago to collect it.”

“And you didn’t, _because_?”

“Because, Matt, he’s so good looking and talented and I’m so _gay._ He’s just… I don’t know. I don’t know how to _deal_ with this - I’ve never looked at a stranger before and gotten butterflies.”

Shiro could have sworn he saw Matt roll his eyes while pulling his shirt off over his head, but he didn’t bother calling him on it. Objectively, he wouldn’t have blamed Matt for doing so.

“It sounds to me like somebody has a crush.”

“Of course I have a crush, Matt. He’s _amazing._ I really want to ask him out for drinks, but I don’t think he speaks English. He gave me a card with the English translation so that I knew to come back and get the painting.”

“So you haven’t even _spoken_ to him?” Matt breathed out a hefty sigh as he dropped onto his own bed, mirroring Shiro’s starfish-inspired pose. “Well, the first exhibit tomorrow isn’t all that interesting. I’d be happy to pass it up if you want me to come with you and hold your hand.”

“I’m trying to flirt with him, not give him the impression I’m already dating someone.”

“I was thinking less of a ‘ _boyfriends holding hands_ ’ and more of a ‘ _parent holding a child’s hand_ ’, but y’know, whatever.”

 

* * *

 

Despite all his teasing and griping, even Shiro had to appreciate that Matt was a wonderful friend. After all, the following morning he was _actually_ willing to get his portrait painted to give Shiro an excuse to see the guy - provided Shiro paid him the forty trisilk - even though he could have been drooling over something new at the convention they were here for.

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want to hold my hand, Takashi?” Matt asked as they crossed the already bustling square, and when Shiro blushed right up to the tips of his ears and elbowed him hard in the ribs, he simply tipped his head back and laughed.

They came to that familiar corner and, if the furious pink that had settled into Shiro’s cheeks had once began to fade, it was now back full-force. The artist was there, standing on his tiptoes as he pinned up his example paintings, exactly the same as he had yesterday. In the periphery of his vision he caught sight of two waiting figures over his shoulder, and he couldn’t hide a small smile at the sight of that white haired man with the scar on his face. A repeat customer…

He wasn’t complaining.

Matt took the lead, stepping forwards and pointing at one of the example paintings. The artist nodded and seemed to pause, before he held a finger up as if asking them to wait. He gestured for Matt to take a seat while he ducked down and began to rifle through a folder tucked in against the wall. He pulled out that familiar painting from yesterday, made with long streaks of violet, yellow, and gray. It was just as beautiful to see the second time round, Shiro noted, although he was quickly cut off from his lovesick reverie when he realised the artist was holding it out to him.

With a sheepish smile and another attempt at a thanks in the local tongue, he accepted the piece. The artist had a soft pink high on his cheekbones and a shy smile on his lips; he only nodded politely in return, before focusing his attention back to the man currently waiting for a portrait.

The entire time he was painting, the artist didn’t so much as look at him. Then again, Shiro wasn’t sure what he expected - the guy was working! - but there was a definite sting of dejection there. Maybe this guy was just trying to be polite, and Shiro was just reading too much into it. Maybe he was trying to gently let Shiro down, despite the language barrier. So, he hung back while the man painted, looking at his shoes, at the surrounding street, _anywhere_ except his painting. He felt like such an idiot for rushing in like that. 

A rustle of paper brought Shiro back to reality, in time to watch the artist turn his watercolor pad towards Matt. Matt looked impressed and he nodded, following the routine of reading the small laminate and handing over his (Shiro’s) money. Except, because he was going to be out at the convention most of the day, he gestured for something to write on. The artist looked around for a pen and then offered up the corner of his pad, and watched while Matt wrote down his name, cell number, and the name of the convention center along with the time it was over. He tapped the pen against the numbers, and the artist offered a small nod to show he understood.

With that, the artist thanked them both with a quiet “ _nga’sklin tru’kna_ ” and a wave. Matt waved back with a smile and began to tug Shiro back towards the square, already chatting about how he wanted to get a coffee before he had to get the next shuttle.

Shiro looked back over his shoulder upon realising he had been urged away before he could say goodbye, only to find the artist looking at him as well. When their eyes met, they both seemed to grow embarrassed; the artist tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear and smiled shyly, while Shiro’s cheeks grew rosy and his shoulders relaxed some.

Maybe Shiro wasn’t reading too much into things, after all.

 

* * *

 

“What am I even meant to do with this?” Matt asked, sitting up on the end of his bed and looking down at the painting. “I mean, it's nice and all, but I don't have anywhere to put a painting of myself.”

“Maybe your parents would like it?” Shiro supplied from over the book he was halfway through, settled in the bed opposite. 

“It'd just get crumpled while travelling home. I'll just toss it in the trash, it's not--”

“No!” Matt blinked at the sudden interruption, and watched Shiro's cheeks flush. “I'll, uh… I'll keep it.”

“You want a random portrait of me?” 

“That guy painted it,” Shiro answered, and Matt had to roll his eyes.

“Okay, whatever. If you really want a constant reminder of what my beautiful face looks like.”

Then it was Shiro's turn to roll his eyes.

But, once Matt settled into the twin bed opposite him and turned over to face the wall, Shiro was left looking at the paintings in the dim light by his bed. The colours were perfectly balanced, and Shiro had to wonder if this guy had had any education in painting or if he was just naturally gifted. There was so much he didn't know about him, and so much he _wanted_ to know about him. He wanted to know everything.

His name would be a good starting point.

Maybe Shiro was just a _little_ in over his head. With a sigh, he tipped his head back against the wall behind his bed, and stared up at the ceiling. He wanted to see him again, but what excuse did he have? He couldn't even speak to the guy. Unless he gained a fluency for the local tongue overnight somehow, he was out of luck. The thought made his chest ache.

Shiro set the paintings on his nightstand and flipped the lamp off, obscuring the room into darkness. While he lay there waiting for sleep to take him in, all he could think of was that man's hair compared to the inky darkness surrounding him.

 

* * *

 

When Shiro woke, it was late the following morning; Matt had long since left already, and he had been roused by the light filtering in through the window paired with a gnawing  hunger deep in his stomach. He pushed himself up on one arm and glanced at the time - almost 11AM - so the free breakfast offered by the hotel was over. Although, that opened up a new opportunity.

Shiro got showered and shaved, and he made a point of putting something nice on. Once satisfied by his own reflection he took a deep breath, grabbed his wallet and phone, and locked up.

The first thing he did was stop in to a little café near the hotel and order two coffees. One black, with which he grabbed a few sachets of both milk and sugar, and a white coffee for himself. After awkwardly fitting both cups into a cardboard cup holder, he was crossing the square in search of a stall he had noticed the day prior. It took some looking - he could have sworn it was on the left side, and not the right, but he found it in the end. It was a stall full of breads and pastries, and it also sold those crystalline candies he'd seen before. He bought a bag of those, along with a variety of pastries. In the end, the paper bag of delicacies was so full it wouldn't close - but Shiro deemed that a good thing, since at least then he was sure the artist would find _something_ he’d like.

Now, came the most nerve wracking part.

The artist had already set up, and he was currently occupied with sketching between customers. His hair was tied back in a loose, low ponytail, and he had one headphone in and one out. As he approached, Shiro wondered what he was listening to. Maybe they listened to the same type of thing, even. There was _so much_ he wanted to know.

The artist looked up at him when he neared, and his grey-blue eyes seemed to light up at the sight of Shiro there (a fact that made Shiro feel weak at the knees). He blinked down at the coffee Shiro was holding, along with the pastries clutched under his arm, and then back up to the white haired man. They stood for a moment, neither quite sure how to go about this, but Shiro held the cup holder out towards him and nodded towards the black coffee. The artist tentatively took it, unsure if it was quite an offering - but once he had, Shiro was reaching for the sachets he had gathered, and he extended them out too. With pink cheeks the dark haired man offered up a shy smile, accepting a sachet of milk and two sugars. Then, he gestured to the seat his customers usually sat in, and Shiro gladly obliged.

For a few minutes, they sat there and ate rather quietly. The artist seemed to be deep in thought, while Shiro was staring at his half-eaten pastry in an attempt not to stare at _him._ The artist finished his pastry and stood from his seat, holding one finger up to Shiro while he rounded his chair and went searching for something - the laminate from earlier.

He had understood _one_ of the languages there, hadn’t he? So, the artist held the card out to him and, with his other finger, ran down the different languages. It seemed to take Shiro a second to catch on to what was being asked of him, and he pointed to the English.

The artist pursed his lips, and sat back in his seat.

Figuring that they were out of luck because the artist hadn’t said anything, Shiro’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. He settled back into his seat and reached for another pastry, as did the other and for a few minutes, they ate quietly. The artist finished his pastry first and only after dusting his hands off and stretching his arms overhead did he finally speak - accompanied by a smile like the cat who had just caught the canary.

“So… I assume you’re here on a trip or something?”

Shiro inhaled a lungful of pastry crumbs in surprise, which promptly led to him holding a hand over his mouth and coughing. The artist gestured to the other’s coffee, and Shiro took a gulp before looking back at the man who was still struggling to suppress a smile.

“You speak English?”

“Yeah! Ah, we have so many tourists come here from other planets ‘cause of the cliffs and everything - So I honestly wasn’t sure _what_ language you’d speak. I _kinda_ suspected after your friend gave me his name, because I know that’s a common name back home.”

 _Matt_. Did he really have _Matt_ to thank for this? Matt, who teases him at every opportunity and often reminds him how terrible he is at flirting?

“Christ,” Shiro replied, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, well. I’m Shiro, and yes, I’m here on a trip. Staying for another week, so... well, uh. Could I take you out for a drink tonight? What do you say?”

“I say, you’re on.” He answered as though he’d been ready and waiting, and he held his hand out towards him with a sheepish, lopsided grin. “Keith.”

 

Keith…

It suited him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thankyou to [dragonryder94](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonryder94/pseuds/dragonryder94) for beta-ing my work!!  
> I originally planned for this to have three chapters, but I've since changed it to an unknown number - I don't want to limit myself into a set number, but instead I want to focus on letting the story pace itself as it will!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy <3


	3. Chapter 3

“--So this guy looks me dead in the eye and reaches into his pocket, right, and he just pulls out a single hard-boiled egg. Naturally, I was like, ‘what the fuck?’ but he just shushed me and he goes, ‘Quiet. It’s sleeping’. Before I could say another word the bouncers in the club come rushing out and tackle him- apparently, in his other pocket, he had all the money from the cash register.”

Shiro can’t suppress a laugh around the rim of his glass, and Keith leaned forwards on his elbows, lips curved into a grin. “I swear to God, Shiro, he was either on drugs or he was just a _super_ weird guy.”

“I’m going to put my money on drugs, honestly,” Shiro answered, although as he set his beer back on the table, his smile wilted slightly. “So… Last night together, huh?”

Keith’s face fell, too, and he ran his finger around the rim of his own glass. 

“Yeah… But it’s been fun, at least, while you were here.”

“You know, I actually didn’t really plan on coming. Matt dragged me along for a forced vacation - apparently, you know, I needed a break from working.” He did offer Keith a smile, though, even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I’m glad that I did come along, now.”

There was quiet for a moment, and Keith looked down at the napkins at the edge of their table, before snagging the one off the top of the pile, and then going looking through his rucksack by his legs. After getting it, he bit the cap off between his teeth, and began to draw. Not his usual work, but a doodle. A silly little doodle of Shiro, himself, with Keith’s signature there beside it. 

“I’m glad you came along, too. These past few nights, just drinking and talking… It’s been really nice. I don’t really get to do it all that often.” With a smile, he slid the napkin towards Shiro, but on second thought brought it back so he could add a little doodle of himself. He contemplated adding a couple of hearts, but… Maybe that was too forward. Was it?

One glance at Shiro, and he added two little hearts, before capping his pen again and sliding the napkin towards Shiro. “I guess it’s a little thank-you, for the beers and the good company.”

A little thank-you in the way of a silly, blocky doodle on a slightly damp napkin, that Shiro would cherish for the rest of his life. Keith was killing him.

They finished their beers, paid, and stepped out into the warm night air. Keith sighed, and shoved his hands into his pockets. He didn’t want this night to end. Was that sappy? Knowing that Shiro would be travelling back to Earth tomorrow, it… Made something inside him ache.

“Let me walk you home.” Keith’s cheeks pinked upon seeing Shiro’s expression turn to mild surprise. “Back to your apartment, I mean. You’ve been insistent on walking me back to my place, the past few nights. Let me walk _you_ home, tonight.”

“Will you be okay, walking home by yourself?”  
“Shiro, shut up. _I’m_ the one who lives here.”

With a smile as if to show there was no malice behind his words, Keith started walking in the direction of his booth. Shiro followed suit, itching to reach out and snake his hand into Keith’s, but not quite being sure if they were that close. He wanted to be. _God_ , he wanted to be.

They walked quietly, apparently both entrenched in the fact that tomorrow morning, at 6:30am, Shiro would be catching a shuttle back to the command-center they had flown into to begin with, and then… Just like that, they wouldn’t see one another. At least, not on the daily. Shiro wouldn’t come by with coffee at random intervals, and he wouldn’t be there when Keith closed up at the end of the day. They could text, sure, but it wouldn’t be the same.

When they got to Keith’s booth, Shiro took the lead on where they were going. Unfortunately, the remainder of the walk didn’t last more than a minute and a half. Standing outside the hotel, Shiro clearly hesitated on going inside.

“So… I’m not going to see you tomorrow morning.”

Keith looked down at his sneakers, arms crossing over his chest. “Unfortunately, no.”

Their upset was palpable, but Keith was forced into looking up again when Shiro stepped closer. Hands hovered, as if he wanted to reach out, to touch Keith, but he wasn’t quite sure.

“Can... I kiss you?” He asked, hands settling on Keith’s waist when the shorter male stepped into the embrace. Keith met him there with hands on his shoulders and their lips only inches apart. Shiro could feel Keith’s breath, and smell the tickle of alcohol on it. 

“You better,” Keith said with a smile, before they closed the distance. Keith adjusted his arm so he was comfortably bracing Shiro, even if he had to stand on the tips of his toes for the moment.

It was a blissful few seconds, and when they separated, everything felt _cold_.

“You have my number,” Shiro said softly, and they tipped their foreheads together. “Please text me.”

“I will,” Keith assured with a small smile, although it was tinted with sadness at the knowledge they’d have to part.

“You better.”  
With one more laugh, and one more shared kiss, they finally let go of one another. Shiro hadn’t felt a connection to anyone like this, not in years. His chest ached as he climbed the stairs to the hotel doors, and with one glance back to Keith, he offered a sad smile. 

He hadn’t come to Laio'ksar expecting to fall in love.

Shiro didn’t sleep that night. The following morning, he was up, dressed, and packed before Matt was awake. Thankfully, Matt knew what was up. He could see it in the dark circles under his eyes, and he made it easier for Shiro by doing the talking. He chatted about anything he could, about the technology he’d learned about - all while knowing Shiro was thinking about other things. It was white noise, if nothing else. 

Shiro appreciated it.

He came back to himself slightly on the journey home, and while Shiro was still not as chatty as he usually may have been, he was talking. That was something. Shiro kept glancing at his phone, too. And even when they disembarked, when he knew Keith would be awake and at work - there was no text.

There was no text.

* * *

Shiro spent the following day mostly keeping to himself. He’d fallen hard. He’d fallen so hard, and so fast, and he had really thought… He’d really thought it was requited. Was he reading into it? Had he been making Keith feel pressured? He felt like an idiot. A heartbroken, lovestruck idiot. How could he let himself fall this hard, this fast?

Shiro went to bed that night, with his phone on loud beside him, and still - there was nothing.

His alarm blared the following morning, and Shiro swiped it off, though as he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling he couldn’t help the gnawing upset deep in the pit of his stomach at the fact that he still had no new messages, no texts. No missed calls. 

Getting up for work that morning took energy and motivation he simply didn’t have, and Shiro deemed it a miracle he got showered and shaved. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so… Empty. Like a piece of him was missing. And he berated himself for that, because he had only met Keith. It wasn’t like Shiro to fall so hard, and so fast. How could he be so impulsive, and so stupid, to fall for someone he knew he would have to leave mere days after?

Locking up, Shiro walked down the halls of his apartment complex, and let himself out the door. He wasn’t sure he could face work today, but duty called. Someone off to his right cleared their throat, and Shiro did a double take.

Keith was sitting by the front wall of his apartment complex, with a sketchpad balanced on his knees and his rucksack at his side. 

“Keith?” Shiro stammered, dropping his work bag against the wall and immediately kneeling beside Keith to wrap him into a firm hug. “How did--?”

“I got Matt’s phone number when I was doing his painting, remember? Well, uh… Surprise.”

“You came all this way, for me?”

“I can paint _anywhere_ , Shiro. Laio'ksar, or Earth, or wherever the hell you want. But you… I couldn’t leave you behind.”

Shiro could have gotten misty eyed, and Keith leaned in for a slow kiss. They parted, and Keith had a soft little smile on his face, his eyes fond and so full of love.

“So, uh… You want your portrait painted, _Sir_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL FOR READING ALONG AAA! My first real fic for VLD;;;   
> I didn't get this proof-read, so please forgive any mistakes. But I'm so happy you guys have seemed to enjoy this work <33

**Author's Note:**

> My first multi-chapted fic omg ;_; I'm so excited! I hope you guys enjoy it, too.  
> Thankyou to [dragonryder94](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonryder94/pseuds/dragonryder94) for beta-ing my work!!


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